


A New Beginning

by PlacesBetween



Series: The Story of Us [1]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Pre-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-19
Updated: 2015-09-19
Packaged: 2018-04-21 10:54:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4826429
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlacesBetween/pseuds/PlacesBetween
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas meets Jimmy during the war where they smoke far too many cigarettes, complain about their superior officer and slowly come to realize that all they can depend on is each other.</p><p>Part one of a series that explores what would happen to canon events if Thomas and Jimmy already knew each other when Jimmy came to Downton in 1920.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A New Beginning

June 1916- Ypres, Belgium

Thomas Barrow had never left Britain before. In fact, his ride on the cramped troop ship had been his very first voyage on the sea, turning out nothing like he had pictured. The choppy waters made his stomach turn, transforming a long time fantasy into a nightmare. If he couldn't stand a few waves, how would he stand war?

One year into his deployment, he now knows that he can stand war; but only just. He dreams of nothing but the choppy waters and what lays beyond it; Downton Abbey. He can't see the sea from his little corner of the war, on the northern coast of Belgium, but he knows it's there, just past the horizon. He imagines if it weren't for the dirt and filth and dead bodies around him, he might be able to smell the sea air. As is, all he can smell is death. The fact that remains, somewhere out there, he knows, is home.

He never thought of Downton Abbey as home before. He doubts he will after the war (and there _is_ going to be an after. Thomas refuses to die in this God-forsaken land) but for now, he longs for his livery and Mr. Carson demanding too much of him. Thomas had gotten into this war to get away, and now all he wants is to get back. The irony doesn't escape him.

Thomas stands, stretching out his limbs, enjoying the few moments of freedom he has before he needs to go back into the cramped trenches. He's hundreds of yards behind the lines, restocking on supplies he will need the next time some poor, young bastard is bleeding to death in his arms. The mood back here is downright jovial, even in the Aid Station, as people walk above the ground, less concerned about gas attacks or stray bullets bringing them to their end. Men chat, and smoke, and even smile. 

“Do you have everything you need, corporal?”

“I do, captain,” Thomas says to his chief medical officer who he barely ever sees even though he's in charge of him, and doesn't that remind Thomas of home. He has the feeling that even if he answered to the negative, Captain Laurie wouldn't give a toss anyway. 

“Excellent. As you know we lost three of our Privates this week. Terrible business.”

Thomas does know. He was there when the shell hit, just yards in front of them, supporting a rather heavy bloke who had busted his ankle trying to get out of the trenches. At the time Thomas had thought he had the raw end of the deal, while the three men under his charge worked together to carry a lithe man on a stretcher. Then they had all disappeared before his eyes, beneath the dirt of the trench wall. He was still picking out filth from beneath his nails from his attempts at digging them out.

“You'll be escorting one of your new men up front with you; Private James Kent. I trust you'll show him the ropes.”

Thomas' eyes track to a young man, standing nervously off to the side, his attention far from Thomas and Captain Laurie, and instead on the wounded men, bleeding and dying in rows of four. Not a transfer then.

“Of course, sir.” He doesn't complain about getting one man to replace the three missing from the squad he is supposed to be in charge of as a corporal. Six months ago, he would have. Now he knows better.

Any other time, any other place, Thomas may have noticed how attractive James Kent was, with his blond hair and angular cheekbones. War isn't a place for lust though, at least not for Thomas. 

Captain Laurie excuses himself, hurrying off back down into the relative safety of the bunker, leaving Thomas alone with James and the dying men waiting for transfer further behind the lines. 

“Sir!” James says, saluting Thomas when he approaches.

Thomas' lips quirk upward with satisfaction. He loves the new ones, fresh from training and still tripping over themselves to please. They're the only ones who salute a lowly corporal like him. Wouldn't it be something if James could keep himself from getting killed.

\-----

A week in and Jimmy (as he insists on being called) has relaxed with the saluting and the sirs. The other men in the company are a bad influence on him, telling him stories of when Thomas had face-planted into a pile of muck trying to wrangle the horses or when he'd been caught nicking cigarettes from a dead man. 

It isn't only that though, Thomas thinks. They've been working side by side carrying stretchers through mud and gunfire, relying on each other to not let go and to keep moving. Jimmy had the unfortunate luck to arrive just when there was a push on; a morning raid in an attempt to capture the German trenches turning into a neverending battle. Neither have slept much at all in six days, and Thomas tries not to think about how long it's been since they've had a bath. Even when the troops stand down, they can't, dealing with the wounded and dying. Not to mention the remains of the dead which must be removed, and who better to do it than medical corp?

When Thomas wakes that morning, one week after he first cast eyes on Jimmy, the first thing he notices is the silence. The second thing he notices is Jimmy, sitting impossibly close to him, hands wrapped around his legs and his gaze fixed on the sky above them. 

“Careful there, Barrow. You almost slept past Captain Laurie's inspection.” 

They're a good six feet below ground, huddled just outside the makeshift aid post set up to care for the men when getting them out of the trenches became impossible. It'd been an officer's barracks before Captain Laurie had stormed in, demanding the space for the sake of the wounded men. He'd barely left the shelter since, save to inspect them at the same time every morning, during a break in shelling while the Germans traded off shifts. It's amazing how predictable war can be.

Thomas lights a cigarette, offering one to Jimmy, knowing Jimmy's own allotment are gone, lost to the earth like so much else around them. Jimmy takes it eagerly, his dirty hands smudging the crisp white of the paper. 

Thomas enjoys the shared smoke, noting the time with glee. It's well past the time a raid should have happened and yet it's quiet. “Push must be over. No rest for the likes of us though. Now we have to go up there. See if there's any living.” 

No Man's Land. The place soldiers least like to tread. Jimmy doesn't speak on this, instead changing the subject, as if he can will the reality away with words.

“Will Captain Laurie be joining us on this adventure?” Jimmy asks wryly.

Thomas snorts. “Of course not. Someone must stay behind and count the bandages. He leaves it to us to do the dirty work.”

“He doesn't seem to like you very much, that's for sure,” Jimmy looks rather amused at this prospect, to Thomas' annoyance.

“No, he doesn't. Which is why I'm always up here, and _Private_ Anderson is always back there, making beds and having a nap.”

Jimmy leans closer, lowering his voice in a conspiratorial whisper. “What did you do? Was it the stealing?”

“Mind your business, Jimmy,” Thomas answers evenly, snubbing out his cigarette.

Jimmy is right; it was the stealing. But that isn't the only thing. From the very start Captain Laurie didn't seem to like Thomas. As if he could tell that something wasn't exactly right about him.

Jimmy shoves his hands into his pockets, looking away as he speaks. “Well, I think you're alright anyway.” 

Thomas swallows, trying to ignore the warmth that races through him at the way Jimmy says that. The sentiment seems perfectly genuine, without a trace of sarcasm like so many of the other things Jimmy has uttered since he'd arrived. Jimmy, it seems, likes him. And Thomas, he can't abide by that. 

\----

“Clean! I'm actually clean,” Jimmy proclaims. He's wearing only his trousers and his undershirt, both of which are still dirty, but his skin shines, soft and fair. Thomas averts his eyes, biting his lip and ignores the way his heart beats just a touch faster at the sight of it.

“Yes, you're clean. Now get out and let me have a turn.” Thomas pushes past Jimmy roughly to his protestations and closes the door.

They're a few kilometers behind the lines, at the Clearing Station where the men are sent for care before evacuation to hospital. The push and journey into No Man's Land (which they thankfully survived) has meant an influx in the amount of wounded, allowing Thomas and Jimmy to lend in a hand in bringing them to safety. Somewhere in his six months at war, Thomas had begun to correlate a long list of causalities with warm baths and clean clothes. As callous as it might be, their loss is his gain. 

The water is already slightly murky from Jimmy, and he can't imagine what it'll look like when he's finished with it. Thomas is used to cleaner baths, always forcing his way to the front of the queue. After all, he's a Corporal and the rest of his men are mere privates. It's his right to have the cleanest bath. But he had let Jimmy go first. He's probably going to catch hell for it for weeks from the other men.

Thomas scrubs at his skin hard, watching the mud and grime fall away. He notices the small cuts on his skin, and the bruising on his side from when a shell had hit, slamming him into the stretcher. All the while his mind dances around what he knows it means that he had let Jimmy go first. 

\----

“What did you do? Before the war, I mean.” 

They are in the reserve trench, relaxing as much as one can relax when their life is lived in a hole. Thomas smokes, while Jimmy shuffles a deck of cards. The ground is dry here, protected by wooden planks and they recline in actual chairs. Tonight they'll sleep in the barracks with the other men, in beds made comfortable from over a week of sleeping sitting up. It's the only part of war that doesn't make Thomas feel insane.

“I was a footman at a prestigious house in Yorkshire. Downton Abbey,” Thomas answers with pride.

Jimmy shrugs, clearly not very impressed. “Haven't heard of it.”

Thomas furrows his brow in vexation at the casual dismissal. He doesn't understand how Jimmy can be simultaneously enticing and irritating, but there it is.

“What about you then? What was the great Jimmy Kent doing before he signed up for this little war?”

Jimmy, when he answers, is painfully earnest. “I was at home. With my mum.” 

He doesn't elaborate, leaving Thomas unsure how to continue. It hits him suddenly how young Jimmy is. It's hard to remember out here, where everyone is equal. Equally likely to get shot, or gassed or die before ever seeing home again. Jimmy is young though; can't be more than 18. 

“What about your dad?”

Jimmy brushes him off, reaching forward and nabbing Thomas' cigarettes from him. “Can I have one of these?” He asks only after the cigarettes are securely in his grasp. It's not the sort of thing that Thomas would allow from any of the men under his charge. Any of them save Jimmy. 

“You have your own, you know.” 

“I gave them away,” Jimmy responds airily, as if it were nothing. 

Thomas gapes at him. “You _gave_ them away. After all that fuss you put up about losing your own?”

“To that man we brought back to the Clearing Station today. The one who kept begging for home. Figured he needed 'em more than me. Besides, I can just steal yours. Payback for your own thievery.”

Thomas rolls his eyes. “You know, you're the only one who won't let me forget that and you weren't even here when it happened.”

“Doing my duty, then. For the Royal Army Medical Corps.” Jimmy salutes him, letting out a laugh when Thomas flicks his cigarette butt at him. 

They smoke, listening to the ebb and flow of conversations around them, and the distant sound of falling bombs. For the first time since the war began, Thomas' thoughts don't revolve around getting back to Downton.

\----

Thomas isn't in charge of Jimmy. Well, not really. Only so much as he can tell him what stretchers to carry and when he can or can't take a break. He can't send Jimmy home for leave. He can't even send Jimmy back to the Clearing Station. It's remarkably like the hierarchy of Downton, where only Lord Grantham could truly grant time away, and Mr. Carson played at having some sense of control over the lives of his footmen and hall boys. 

Thomas still aches for it though. Control and power. Being able to set his own destiny and make his own decisions. And maybe, just a little, he wishes he could do the same things that have been done to him, to other men. Deny leave, and reprimand in the face of their mistakes. When he thinks of it though, he doesn't imagine it here, in the war. It's all back home. Here, he doesn't want to take from the men. He doesn't want to see their faces fall when he denies them a warm meal rather than stale rations. Thomas gets no delight in the things that people back at Downton, like Mr. Bates, would have him believe are the core of who he is. He doesn't know what that means. If that person he was at Downton isn't truly him or if maybe it is, and war has transformed him into someone slightly better in his fear and loneliness.

Of course, loneliness isn't anything new. He's had that his whole life, even at Downton; maybe especially at Downton. But it's been different here, weighed down by the thought of his last moment being alone, knowing nobody ever loved him nor would they ever get the chance. Ever since Jimmy though, he doesn't feel it like he did. Deep enough to miss even Downton, where he had no control and no power and loneliness in spades. 

“Corporal Barrow.”

Thomas shakes himself out of his musings, standing up to salute Captain Laurie. “Sir.”

“Gather your men at the Aid Station. I have an announcement to make. Our unit is moving down the line,” he tells Thomas grimly, striding away, clearly preoccupied with their marching orders.

Thomas feels his stomach drop. Whatever is happening, it can't bode well for him. Or for Jimmy.

\---

“Do you know what he wants?” Jimmy asks, offering Thomas a hand to help him up the trench wall. They're headed to the Aid Station and to what Thomas knows will be miserable news. 

“All he told me is we're meant to be moving up the line tomorrow. Not sure to where.”

Jimmy blinks up at him, the surprise clear on his face. “That's awful fast.”

“War is like that. Best get used to it, Private Kent,” Thomas replies shortly, straightening his uniform. 

“To France, do you think?” Jimmy lifts his brow in obvious delight. “I've never been to France, 'sides when we were headed through it to here.”

Thomas scoffs at him. “I don't think you'll be seeing the sites much while we're there.”

“Of course not. But I could take leave there. I've always wanted to see Paris.”

“You don't need to be in France to take leave there,” Thomas points out. He knows he's being difficult, but he hates to see Jimmy in such high spirits, when what they're facing is inevitably a new offensive, bloodier and nastier than anything they've seen yet. “I took leave there myself some months back.”

“You didn't go home?” Jimmy doesn't sound perplexed when he asks it, as if he understands that for some people, home is less than a possibility. Maybe it is for Jimmy too. Maybe Jimmy is more like him than he seems. Thomas pushes away the dangerous thought, focusing instead on what's in front of him.

“Some of us don't have much of a home to go back to.”

Jimmy clasps his shoulder, a warm weight of comfort felt for only a moment, before he pulls away, hands held tightly behind his back. “Right you are, Corporal Barrow. Right you are.”

\----

July 1916- France

There is little difference to Thomas between Ypres and the Somme. The land stretches on each side in a network of trenches. In front of them, land dead and barren save for the cursed wire and lifeless bodies. Thomas doesn't know what was here before them; can't rightly imagine it. Whether there were fields of vivid flowers or green grasses as far as the eye could see. All Thomas knows is the men who have filled these trenches, the men they are replacing, have seen hell. 

Thomas was able to get his hands on a newspaper on the trip over, shared between him and a Private. Jimmy had no interest in reading the paper, instead opting to play cards with some men from a rifle company, suckering them out of their carefully rationed cigarettes. The headline proclaimed CASUALTIES NOT HEAVY. There was no list of names for families to know whether their son or father or husband perished. Just a proclamation that the war was just, and going well. Now, as Thomas looks at the scarred battlefield, at the scores of companies depleted to nothing, of the empty ranks that they must fill, he feels sick. 

He wonders to himself what the people at Downton think of the war. If they believe very little is happening overseas, where Thomas sees death everyday. Where he touches it with his hands as he patches up men who surely will not make it home. Still, he does his job; because that is all there is to do. He carries stretcher after stretcher and administers the bear minimum of care; all he can give. Jimmy being by his side, and the letters from O'Brien are the only comfort he has.

“I should've joined the infantry,” Jimmy says, as they rest for just a moment. Just a small breather before their tired arms get back to lifting and moving the dead. “At least then I could take a shot at these bastards.” 

He sounds bitter and angry. His eyes on the long line of corpses that have piled up by the Aid Station. There is nowhere for the bodies to go, the line clogged up by new men coming in and injured men going out. Thomas wants to comfort Jimmy, but he wouldn't dare. Not just for the sake of propriety. Not because he fears Jimmy taking it the wrong way (or right way, as it were, because God knows Thomas aches for him. He's accepted that fact.) but for his own sake. He has to push down his feelings, he reminds himself. Now isn't the time for such things. 

He distracts himself with a question. “Why did you join the Medical Corps?” 

Jimmy shrugs, looking anywhere at Thomas. Discomfort radiates off him in waves. “Why did you?”

Changing the subject again, Thomas muses. Thomas could push, probably would with just about anyone else, but he indulges Jimmy instead. He pauses to light a cigarette, passing it to Jimmy before lighting another for himself. “I had thought it would be easier. Fancy that,” he responds dryly. 

“Easier than service or easier than fighting?” Jimmy prompts. He sounds curious yes, but Thomas knows what Jimmy is doing. That he's asking more questions in a bid not to have to answer any himself. Thomas indulges him though, as he always seems to do when it comes to Jimmy.

“Both maybe. I was looking to advance, after the war.”

“Well, you are a corporal,” Jimmy offers, with a wince. 

Corporal is only one step above private, and they both know Thomas has been in this war for so much longer than other corporals who surround them. With anybody else, Thomas would feel shame at the reminder of his status and his own inability to elevate himself. He doesn't with Jimmy somehow. It isn't pity coming from Jimmy. It's something different; empathy maybe. Understanding. 

“We both know I won't. Not as long as the great captain is in charge.”

“Maybe the great captain's great big head will meet with a stray bullet one of these days,” Jimmy laughs, winking at Thomas.

“That's a ghoulish thought, Jimmy,” Thomas admonishes him, but he can't keep from smiling. He's thought it himself a few times, after all. Besides, out here, things are different. Death isn't a far away notion. It's close and often, and somehow that makes it all the more meaningless. Thomas doesn't fully understand it, but he doesn't question it either.

Jimmy knocks his shoulder. “You should be a lieutenant by now. I don't know how you put up with it. If it were me he were treating that way, I would've found my own way of advancing.”

“You would've liked me better back at Downton. I was always looking to advance there.”

“Which is why you're here, I recall. Life in all its irony.” 

“Don't I know it,” Thomas replies darkly.

Jimmy snubs out his cigarette. “I for one am glad you're a corporal. If you were anything more, we wouldn't know each other, would we?” 

Thomas ducks his head, hoping the dirt on his face is enough to hide the blush coursing up his neck, and spreading across his cheeks. “Something to be thankful for then.”

Jimmy smiles at him, ear to ear; a smile made brighter by the darkness around them. Thomas tucks it away to remember over the coming days.

\----

“It were my mum.”

Thomas and Jimmy are huddled in a small shell crater, out in No Man's Land. They had been seeing to a captain who had gotten injured out there, repairing the wires. A man too important to leave behind. So he and Jimmy were sent out to bring him back, even with an artillery barrage in full swing. They had found him, face down in the mud; dead. So now here they are, hoping to God that a shell doesn't hit close enough to kill them. Hoping that the three feet of cover will be enough to save them both.

“What?” Thomas asks, having no idea what Jimmy is talking about. Had Jimmy lost it? Would Thomas have to pull him back behind the line, suffering from shell shock?

“My mum. She was the one who asked me to join the medical corps. She said if I was insisting on signing up, that I was to be as safe as possible.”

Thomas is pressed up against Jimmy. Close enough to hear how much Jimmy's voice is shaking, and feel his stale breath against his skin each time he breathes. 

“We're going to be okay, Jimmy. I promise.” Thomas can't care anymore, not now. He reaches out, grabbing Jimmy's hand in his and holds on tightly. Jimmy holds on just as hard.

\----

They are okay. Both of them. The shells stop, and they make it back to the trenches. Captain Laurie sees them, sees their faces and takes pity on them both. Back behind the line they go, to the Clearing Station. Just bring these men back, he says, and then you can rest. Only for a little while. 

Jimmy stands closer to Thomas now, never far from his reach. It's as if those few hours in the shell crater had cemented what was already building between them. The love Thomas now feels when he looks at Jimmy is almost too much for him to bear, especially when Jimmy smiles at him in that soft way. He doesn't _tell_ Jimmy how he feels. He can't risk losing the one thing that is keeping him sane. Instead he shows it in small ways. A lingering hand, or a long look. 

Thomas starts thinking about after the war. About him and Jimmy back home. Maybe finding a job with Jimmy by his side. Downton becomes a far off thing, only to be talked about in past tense. Now, Thomas thinks, he has Jimmy.

\----

“Are your parents alive, Jimmy?” 

Thomas asks the questions while they are lounging on clean sheets, in a clean room, in the ever so clean hospital. He's never felt cleaner in his life. It's a beautiful feeling. Almost as beautiful as Jimmy's skin sans dirt and debris. 

Their beds are pushed close together, to make room for the dozens of other beds packed into the hospital. This room is for the men resting, rather than the ones injured, meaning the mood is mostly light and easy as men revel in the feeling of being away from the war.

“My mum is. My dad...he died in the first month of the war. He was regular army. They say there aren't many of them left.” Jimmy says softly. His eyes are intently focused on his hands, pulling on a small string in the blanket he has wrapped around his shoulders. 

“I'm sorry.” Thomas reaches for him, squeezing Jimmy's shoulder, before pulling away. “Only I wondered, after what you said about leave in Paris, and your mum.”

Jimmy shakes his head. “I don't want to go home to her, only to have to go away again.”

Thomas doesn't say anything to that. He doesn't know what he could say. Instead, he does what has become a habit, lighting one cigarette for Jimmy, and then one for himself, hoping that it's answer enough.

“What about you then? Do you have a family?” Jimmy asks, after a few drags.

“Everybody has a family. Mine just happens to be one I have no interest in seeing,” Thomas answers evenly.

“I'm sorry for that.”

“You're too kind, Jimmy.” Thomas touches him again, this time on his knee. He flinches when Jimmy shrugs him off this time, Jimmy's eyes wide and searching the room, as if to see if anybody else saw.

Thomas swallows, looking away, as he's shaken out of the fantasy he's been in since that moment in that shell hole. He can't forget the way the world is. What people think of him. How careful he has to be. He _must_ remember. 

He looks at Jimmy again, and his breath catches. If only he didn't have to remember.

\----

“Do you have a girl back home, Thomas?”

Thomas. Jimmy had stopped calling him Barrow weeks before. It's late August now, and the Somme offensive is still raging around them. Two men in Thomas' squad have perished, one shot in the head right in front of Thomas' eyes as they carried a man who didn't even make it out of the trenches alive. Wasted life, on both counts. 

“I don't.” Thomas almost laughs at the thought of it, but keeps his face blank, all emotion pushed down below the surface. “Do you?”

“Of course!” Jimmy grins. “Or well, I did. Doubt she's waiting for me to return. It weren't anything serious.” 

Thomas heart drops. Of course Jimmy would have a sweetheart. How could he not? “She'd be a fool not to wait,” Thomas says, cursing himself for how earnest his voice sounds when he says it. 

“If you don't have a girl, who is it that writes you all the time?”

“That's Mrs. O'Brien. We worked together at Downton. She keeps me up on all the news back home.”

“Mrs. O'Brien, you dog,” Jimmy shoves his shoulder, looking at Thomas as if a great secret were revealed. “What's she look like then?”

Thomas' eyes widen, his lips turning up in amusement. “Mrs. O'Brien? Like a spinster who will always be a spinster. We're just friends, Jimmy.”

Jimmy shrugs at that, his eyes narrowing. “I ain't never heard of a bloke being friends with a girl before.”

“It's different in service,” Thomas insists. “You become close to the other people downstairs. You...you take care of each other, as it were. As much as you can.”

“It sounds nice,”

Thomas thinks for a moment, before answering. “That part of it can be nice. But it's also hard. If the people don't like you.”

Jimmy shakes his head. “I can't imagine they don't like you.”

“Then you imagine wrong,” Thomas responds shortly. “Back to work, now. No more lazing about for us.”

\-----

Dear Thomas,

Life at the Abbey goes on as usual. Sybil continues to think she is helping somehow, by training to become a nurse. I'm sure she's nothing more than a hindrance to Dr. Clarkson and the others at the hospital. I suppose money can buy you just about anything though, so she is allowed to continue. Mrs. Patmore complains endlessly of the shortages. The only talk that can be found upstairs is of the war. Mr. Crawley is back overseas, after a stay here for some time. May the lord keep you safe.

Sarah O'Brien

\----

Dear O'Brien,

I've made a friend here, of all places. His name's Jimmy. He's a good lad. Does his work, and is interesting to talk to. In all truth, he's the only thing keeping me sane. The war is not what they say it is back home. Know that. Keep the news coming. I want to hear all about Downton, for better or worse.

Your friend,  
Thomas Barrow

\---

The letters from O'Brien aren't just for Thomas anymore. Now, he reads them aloud to Jimmy. Jimmy comments on everything; smiles as O'Brien describes her hatred of arrogant Bates or her loyalty to Lady Grantham. The people at Downton become something like characters to Jimmy, to be critiqued and enjoyed. He doesn't share his letters written back to O'Brien, more often than not laced with antidotes about Jimmy. Those are just for him.

Besides, it isn't like Jimmy shares the letters he gets, so Thomas doesn't feel too badly about it. Jimmy keeps his letters close to his chest, like everything else. Thomas wouldn't mind so much if he weren't always in a sour mood after reading them. Thomas can only guess at what makes Jimmy upset, but he doesn't think it's the contents of the letters themselves. They seem to make him happy enough while he's reading them. It's only after that the moods come on, rolling in like a thunderstorm and soaking them all in his misery. 

“Budge up, you're taking up all the room,” Jimmy complains, elbowing his way onto the small bench. They're packed into a small alcove, enjoying a break in the fighting. Or well, Thomas _was_ enjoying their break.

“Alright, alright. No need to shove me.”

“I wouldn't have to shove you if your bloody great arse didn't take up the whole bench,” Jimmy responds petulantly. “Give us a cigarette.” Jimmy reaches for Thomas' pack, but Thomas is quicker than him, pulling it back before Jimmy can take it.

“You have your own, you know,” Thomas says pointedly. 

“I lost them all in that card game last night. You never say no, why start now?”

“Because you're being a right jerk and these are mine.” Thomas makes a point of lighting one, breathing in deeply and blowing it out dramatically. 

“Well, what use are you then?”

Thomas looks down, feeling his heart sink. He knows Jimmy's just in a foul mood, that he doesn't mean it. The words still hurt though. “You forget yourself, Private Kent. You're talking to a superior officer.”

Jimmy rolls his eyes. “How could I forget _sir_. I'd better go see what the other men of my ilk are up to. If you'll excuse me that is, sir.” Jimmy snaps, standing and leaving before Thomas can say another word.

\-----

It's been two days since he last spoke to Jimmy. Jimmy had asked Captain Laurie if he could trade with Private Anderson for, as he put it, a few days of much deserved rest in the support trench. Not only does Thomas lose his best friend but he's left with Anderson who is nearly a foot shorter than him, making every stretcher that much more difficult to carry and who seems to blame Thomas as to why he's now stuck with the unfavorable job of trench work. 

By the morning of the third day without Jimmy, and consequently the third day of endless rain, Thomas is ready to forget Jimmy's nasty words and forgive him anything if it means he'll come back. Thomas hasn't set foot in the Aid Station since, kept away by tumbling mud slick walls that make it near impossible for much movement at all. He can only wonder if Jimmy is still mad at him and berate himself for how deeply Jimmy's words had cut.

He'd broken a promise to himself. The cardinal rule he had set in place when he received his marching orders. No feelings that would get in the way of success and survival. Yet here he is, more focused on Jimmy than on the wounded men who now have only Thomas and Anderson to look to for care. He wishes he could do more, and curses his dwindling medical supplies. They cover the men as best they can from the rain, and Thomas loses more than one life to time. 

He's carrying yet another man through the maze of trenches, wounded trying to lead his men out of the trenches for an attack. He didn't even make it out, stumbling backward and landing on his bayonet. Thomas signals to Anderson to stop as soon as their away from the crowds of men who are still waiting for the orders from the next officer in line to guide them to their likely end. Thomas will be seeing many of them soon. 

“I'm bleeding to death!” The man panics, trying to get up. 

Thomas shushes him, pushing him back down. “It only looks worse because of the rain, Lieutenant. Now stay still so I can take care of you.”

He bandages him, grimacing as his dirty hands stain the clean white, but it can't be helped. He gestures to Anderson to administer the morphine, finally quieting him 

They take step after careful step on the slick boards meant to keep their feet dry. Thomas ducks down, pressing himself into the trench wall as a shell hits impossibly close, only to feel another person gripping his arm to help keep him upright. 

“Are you alright?” His helmet has fallen down into his eyes making it hard to see, but he'd recognize that voice anywhere. Jimmy.

Thomas nods, swallowing down the odd mix of fear and relief, and pushes his helmet back with a muddy hand. Jimmy has returned to him.

“The line's open! Let's get these men back, yeah?” Jimmy offers, nodding to Anderson. 

Between the three of them they are able to get the unconscious man who had fallen off the stretcher back on and Jimmy leads them forward through the mud and rain, past the point that had kept them sealed off from the support trench these last three days. They reach the bunker where the wounded men are trapped in the safety of the underground. For the first time in days Thomas is out of the rain.

He washes his hands in dirty water, dries them on the inside of his uniform; the only place left untouched by the earth. He breathes in the stale air deeply, and watches Jimmy work, side by side with Captain Laurie. Thomas should be helping the parade of men bringing back the wounded, but instead he watches. Jimmy moves with grace, each action meticulous and practiced. He's good here; much better than he is in the trenches where only crude work can be done. Thomas can only wonder why Jimmy, ambitious Jimmy, who could put Thomas' cunning ways to shame, had taken so long to seek out this deserved refuge. Tendrils of hope make themselves known. Thomas wishes he were strong enough to ignore them.

\----

“Catch!” 

Thomas glances up from where he is attempting to dry out his extra pair of socks (soaked along with the rest of his things) just in time to catch whatever it is Jimmy is throwing to him.

“Cigarettes?” Thomas thumbs the package greedily. He hasn't had a smoke in well over a day.

“Full pack. All yours,” Jimmy offers with a tentative smile. “Don't say I never did anything for you.”

Thomas rolls his eyes. “I wouldn't dream of it.” 

He lights one, reveling in the pleasantly familiar burn in his lungs before offering one to Jimmy. Jimmy declines with a shake of his head. The surprise at the refusal gives way to realization of what this is; a peace offering. One Thomas will gladly accept. He barely even recalls the sting of hurt that had accompanied Jimmy's words or the angry glances Jimmy had cast his way. His mind is too full with days of rain and an aching want to be by Jimmy's side again.

Jimmy settles down next to him, reaching into Thomas' bag to help him salvage what he can from the waterlogged mess. “Thomas, you sneak! You have whiskey!” 

“Just a little. Don't be getting any ideas. Really Jimmy, just after you gifted me with cigarettes? I'm hurt, truly,” Thomas teases.

Jimmy gives him a sheepish look, capping the whiskey and putting it to the side. “Captain Laurie is quite upset with how well you did.”

Thomas snorts in amusement at that. “Nothing's more vexing than saved lives for a medical man of Captain Laurie's caliber, I expect.”

“We thought we'd find nothing but corpses when the rain finally stopped enough to dig through.” There is little emotion in Jimmy's voice when he says it. Thomas can't even be sure if it's meant for him, or if Jimmy is just speaking aloud, so fixed is his attention on the book in his hands. It's a lost cause, the ink nearly faded and pages crumpled, but he keeps smoothing out page after page anyway.

Thomas goes for the glib response, uncertainty wracking through him.“It was just a little rain.”

“Rain and poison gas and gunfire. Just another day in France.” Jimmy throws the book, letting out a frustrated sigh. 

“Don't look at me. You're the one who wanted to visit France, remember?” he keeps his voice soft and light, hoping it's enough to pull Jimmy out of his dark thoughts. Hoping Jimmy notices that Thomas can't do this right now. He can't be here with Jimmy, after three days of misery, alone and wondering if he'd ever see Jimmy again and focus on the darkness. He just can't.

Jimmy seems to get the hint, giving Thomas an apologetic look. “Where would you have chosen to go, Corporal Barrow? If not France?”

“It's Thomas and...I'm not sure. Maybe Palestine. Somewhere warm.”

“There's bugs in Palestine I hear. Big ones. And lots of sand,” Jimmy says knowledgeably. 

“Better sand than mud,” Thomas remarks, looking down at his mud-covered clothes in disgust. 

Jimmy knocks his shoulder against Thomas'. “Too right.”

“You did well yourself, you know. I saw you in there, with Captain Laurie. You have a knack for it.”

Jimmy shrugs, looking away again. “I like it better up here.” He turns back to Thomas, mischief shining in his eyes. “But don't be thinking it has something to do with you, mind. I just enjoy hard labor is all.”

“Hard labor and rain and poison gas and gunfire. All of Jimmy's favorite things,” Thomas smiles softly, squeezing Jimmy's knee.

He takes out his whiskey, pouring a little into the cap and hands it to Jimmy. Jimmy takes it, and if Thomas were a weaker man, he would almost think Jimmy was blushing. “To France then.”

“To France.”

\----

Jimmy is only back with him for a day before Captain Laurie requests Jimmy's assistance at the Aid Station. Thomas is left with Anderson and a new man who has only been with them a few days now. He couldn't even say what his name is, a failing on his own part considering it's Thomas' job to order him around in Captain Laurie's stead. 

“He'll probably die before I learn it anyway,” Thomas mumbles to himself, as he gets their supply of stretchers ready for the raid that is supposed to be happening at noon. Another raid, and another day without Jimmy.

As it turns out, the new man, Taylor, isn't a bad sort. He listens when Thomas tells him to do something, and he doesn't laugh at Anderson's ridiculously awful jokes. It's all Thomas can ask, given the circumstances.

When Jimmy returns hours later, the skirmish is over. Barely any causalities, and only the slightest contact with the other side. It's a good day all things considered, but Thomas hadn't felt the joy of it until he saw Jimmy's silhouette against the backdrop of the setting sun. 

“Hello there. Enjoy another day of lounging around while us grunts did the real work?” Thomas teases.

Jimmy doesn't look happy to see him. His mouth is a thin line, his expression drawn and intensely displeased. Thomas' good day disintegrates in the face of it. 

Jimmy tries to walk past him without saying anything, but Thomas stops him with a hand on his shoulder. “What's wrong?”

Jimmy shakes his head, shrugging off Thomas' touch. “Nothing's wrong. Can't I have a bad day without having to explain it to you?”

Thomas swallows, looking down. “Of course. Yes, of course. Go get some food, yeah?”

Jimmy sighs, kicking at the trench wall. “Sorry, Thomas. I shouldn't...just sorry. I'm always taking it out on you and you're always. You're too kind to me.”

“I'm just kind enough, I think,” Thomas suggests. “Get some food, and then come on back. There's nothing needs doing here that the others can't do for now.”

“Best get used to that,” Thomas hears Anderson say to Taylor once Jimmy retreats. “Corporal Barrow gives Jimmy all the leeway while we get nothing but more work.”

“Mind your business, Anderson,” Thomas warns, with a glare. “Back to work for the both of you. Now!”

They work for another two hours, before Thomas has no choice but to give in and allow them both to break for dinner. Thomas stays and waits, but Jimmy doesn't return. 

\----

“Thomas!” Thomas is pulled from his sleep at the sound of his name. Jimmy has his hand pressed against Thomas' chest, shaking him gently. “Wake up, Thomas.”

Thomas sits up in his cot, rubbing at his eyes. The rest of the men around him are asleep, so it must be late. “What is it?”

Jimmy doesn't answer, instead gesturing for Thomas to follow him outside, where they can talk more freely. By the time they are out of the bunker, Thomas is just settling into a state of irritation, both at being awoken and at Jimmy never returning. Even further at himself for not reporting Jimmy, as it was his right and responsibility as his squad leader to do. 

“Okay, you got me out here. What is it you need to say so badly?”

“I'm sorry I woke you.” Jimmy leaves his answer at that, fidgeting with a cigarette before lighting it. “Do you want one?”

Thomas accepts it with an exasperated sigh. “Jimmy, I have to be up at dawn for my round of trench foot duty.”

“I know. I just needed to talk to you.”

“So talk then!” Thomas grumbles, pulling his uniform tighter against him to ward off the late night chill. 

“We're friends, aren't we?”

Thomas scrunches his face up in confusion. Why was Jimmy asking him such a question? “Yes, of course we are, dummy. I wouldn't be giving you my cigarettes all the time if we weren't. And I would have reported you for not doing your work. Lucky you.”

Jimmy colors at this, looking down. “Ah, yes; sorry about that. I was just...I had a lot on my mind.”

“What's going on, Jimmy? You can tell me.” Thomas forces Jimmy to look at him, tilting his chin up with a gentle touch. He can't bring himself to move away, his hand resting on Jimmy's shoulder, his rough fingers grazing the soft skin of Jimmy's collarbone. 

“Stop touching me, Thomas.” 

Jimmy doesn't push him away, but the hard edge to his words is enough to make Thomas feel like he had. He pulls away, as if burned, cursing himself for hoping that whatever Jimmy was going to say would mirror the fantasies that played out in Thomas' mind a thousand times over. 

“I'm leaving,” Jimmy says. He still isn't looking at Thomas. In fact, he's looking anywhere but at Thomas; up into the night sky, down at the ground. He can't seem to settle on where is best to fix his gaze, other than not on Thomas. 

“Is it because I...” 

“It's nothing you did,” Jimmy interrupts, before Thomas can finish.

Thomas doesn't know how he would have finished anyway. _Is it because I touched you just then? Is it because I want you? Because I love you?_ So many questions, none of which he wants the answers to.

“Captain Laurie says I have potential. He's sending me back to the field hospital for training and then reassignment.”

It's good news. Thomas knows it is. Jimmy will be safe. Much safer than him. At least for a while. Maybe long enough for the war to end before he has to set foot in another trench. That knowledge isn't enough though, to not make his chest feel like it's caving in on itself.

“When?”

“Tomorrow morning.” He sounds miserable about it, almost as miserable as Thomas feels.

“I'm proud of you Jimmy. You're advancing. Just like we talked about. You'll be above me soon.”

“Don't be bloody proud of me, Thomas! It should be you. You're the one who's been doing everything around here, while I slouch off. Don't think I don't know it. Stupid Captain Laurie. This isn't about me, don't you see? He's punishing you. Anderson must've told him.”

“Told him what?”

“That we're friends, of course. Anderson hates you even more than Captain Laurie. It's all your fault!”

Thomas takes a long pull of his cigarette, searching Jimmy's face for some sign for what he wants from him, but no answer is forthcoming. He's confused. Torn between worry and loss and something akin to relief when he imagines Jimmy in one of the clean, white hospitals, far from the misery that surrounds them everyday.

“I'm going to miss you,” Thomas finally says, his voice cracking on the last word. He scrubs at his eyes, willing the tears not to fall. 

“We've only known each other for three months. How much could you possibly miss me?” Jimmy counters bitterly and Thomas heart breaks for him. 

When Thomas was young there was a stray dog that would hang about near his house. Thomas wasn't sure where he had come from; if he had had a home or if he'd always been alone. Jimmy reminds him of that dog, longing so very much to trust but ready to bound away at the first sign of danger.

“I told you that at Downton, we all care for each other, yeah?” Jimmy nods, prompting Thomas to continue. “I worked with some of those people for four years. None of them hold a candle to you, Jimmy Kent. Do you understand me?”

“I think I do.” Jimmy sighs, the anger fading away, replaced by calm resignation. “To bed with you, Corporal Barrow.”

“You'll wake me in the morning before you leave?” Thomas pleads. He wants to reach out, to feel Jimmy's skin beneath his fingers again, but he doesn't dare ruin their last few moments together by asking too much.

“Of course,” Jimmy nods.

“And you'll write me? When you leave?” Thomas tries to catch Jimmy's eye, but Jimmy isn't allowing it, focusing instead on the ground beneath his feet.

“As long as you don't read them aloud to Anderson.”

Thomas laughs, breaking the tension between them just slightly. Enough for Jimmy's eyes to crinkle in the corners, the way they do when he's truly amused. “Sleep. I'll see you tomorrow.”

Thomas leaves Jimmy outside, and heads back to his cot. Only then does he let the tears fall. For a while he thinks the ache in his chest will be too much to let him sleep, but somewhere in the night, he falls into a restless, dreamless slumber.

He wakes just past dawn. Jimmy is nowhere to be found.

\-----

Two weeks after Jimmy is gone and Thomas has written him three letters. None of them have seen a single reply. Anderson is back behind the line with Captain Laurie. Thomas has Taylor and is gifted another new man who lasts only four days before getting shot. Captain Laurie tells him it will be another week before they can rotate another man in. Thomas can't bring himself to care.

Three weeks after Jimmy is gone and Thomas has written two more letters. He tells him all about the new man and his ridiculous mustache. He details stories of Downton he never shared on their nights huddled together, too mundane to make for a good tale. The memories seem precious now to Thomas, but never as precious as the memories of his time with Jimmy, which he thinks he will never share with anyone.

Four weeks after Jimmy is gone and Taylor is dead. Shot right before Thomas' eyes. Thomas stops writing letters. 

Five weeks after Jimmy is gone Thomas sits in an alcove with Matthew Crawley, drinking coffee and begging him to talk of the old days. He gets word from Laurie that Jimmy has moved on from the hospital and is back on the line. 

He begins checking the lists. Name after name written in fading ink; the newspaper days old by the time it reaches him. Mud from previous hands that held it tightly, searching just like Thomas is through name after name. Kent. Jimmy. The name is never there. He's not dead. Or he is, but hasn't been found, like so many others. Just yesterday Thomas had fallen into a shell crater, his ears clanging from the bombs falling all around him and found he wasn't alone. Beneath him, beneath the dirt that his fingers dug into for leverage was a body, forgotten by time. It had looked to have been there for weeks. It was an hour before Thomas could find the courage to move; to find better safety behind the lines. Some part of him hated leaving that man there, knowing that maybe somewhere up the line Jimmy would be found and left just like this man. But he couldn't risk it; not with the bombs falling around him.

Six weeks after Jimmy is gone, Thomas leans against the trench wall, embraced on all sides by an almost eerie quiet, save for his ragged breathing. He runs his fingers over his lighter, thanking it in a way for the job it's about to do for him. The flame is small, but bright as he lifts it above the trench wall. He doesn't hear the bullet when it strikes, and it's moments before the pain settles in and he knows his goal was achieved.

He may never see Jimmy again, but at least now he knows he has a chance. 

\-----

August 1920

Thomas wakes in a cold sweat, the sounds of falling shells and screaming men still fresh in his mind. The dreams don't happen very often, but when they do they rattle him to his core. He gets up, washing his face in his basin, accepting that there is no point in trying to sleep any longer with dawn on the horizon. 

He feels the years now, in a way he never did before the war. His memories of his youth becoming hazier, his days in the trenches blurring together. Only in his dreams do they crystallize. He doesn't touch the memories of Jimmy, intent on keeping them far in the past where they belong.

He buttons himself into his suit, content to know that he has some hours yet before Lord Grantham rises. Time to shake off the dreams and remind himself of where he is. Three years now, back at Downton. Safe and sound. The war just a distant recollection.

He heads downstairs, busying himself with fixing a pair of shoes he has left by the wayside. By the time he finishes his mind is clear, his mood calm and breakfast is ready. 

When he rounds the corner to the servants dining room, everyone is quiet and staring at someone. 

“What have we here?” he remarks as he slips into the room. Only then does he see who they were staring at. Jimmy Kent.

“Hello, Mr. Barrow.” Jimmy grins at him, a smile Thomas was all but ready to lose to time.

Suddenly it's like no time has passed at all.

**Author's Note:**

> This was meant to be the very start of a story that tackled the S3 (and beyond) canon of Downton in a world where Jimmy and Thomas already knew one another. The words got away from me though, and I realized it would work better as a series. Part two should hopefully be coming soon, picking up where this one left off. And rest assured, their relationship will not have the same fate that it did in canon. I will not put anyone through that twice. ;)
> 
> Fun history fact: The headline Thomas reads about the Somme (which in its first day saw 60,000 British casualties) was [from a real paper](http://blog.britishnewspaperarchive.co.uk/2013/06/30/the-start-of-the-battle-of-the-somme-1-july-1916/). 
> 
> Thank you for reading! You can find me on tumblr at [ Placesbetween](%E2%80%9DPlacesbetween.tumblr.com%E2%80%9D)


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